Anguish
by Roman Tudor
Summary: May 19th, 1537. It's been a year since the execution of his second and beloved wife, Anne Boleyn. Henry's feelings on this day. [Henry x Anne. NO JANE bashing. Angst.]


A/N: It's another ficlet. I made this in retaliation of Feels against a Anne rper I know who decided to make war against me. It's also how my Henry feels on May 19th.

"Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad." — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The early morning dawned, but sunlight didn't shine through the heavy curtain of clouds. It was as if Heaven denied this day any cheer, any light other than the white sheet the sky had become. He lay in bed, head turned towards the windows and gaze fixed on no certain point. Chamberlains stationed in he room didn't so much as make a peep. Even they knew what today was. Else he wouldn't be laying in his own chambers and not Queen Jane Seymour's.

**May the 19th**

His body was bare aside from the trousers he hadn't even bothered to change out of last night. The silk coverlet and cotton sheets rubbing against his skin as he shifted just slightly. A pain pulsed through his heart when he did; was it imaginary? Did it matter? No. Did the growing lump in his throat and the tears welling up in his eyes matter? No. Whatever pain he was feeling right now was much deserved, and could never match what pain he had caused.

The pressure was beginning to build up behind his eyes, he couldn't hide anymore. Body rolling where he faced the ceiling he covered his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Leave me," the words were so soft that none of his chamberlains were sure they were real. That was until he repeated it "**LEAVE ME!**" his voice shook with equal parts rage and pain as he shouted. Without needing further prompt the men beat a hasty retreat.

Though he tried his best to stifle the tears in his eyes it was to no avail. They leaked from the corners and spilled down the sides of his face, plopping down on his pillow. Without warning he was up and off the bed, unable to take laying still any longer. The pads of his feet made barely a sound as he paced back and forth over the hardwood floor. Where his face had once held not a single emotion but mere minutes ago, it now flashed with so much one would wonder how he hadn't burst.

A year ago he had made the single largest mistake of his entire life. Bigger than any mistake he had made as simply the King of England. It had effected his position as King and his life as a man on earth. How could he have been so incredibly foolish as to let his disappointment destroy not only his life but the life of his true love? The mother of his youngest daughter and who was to give birth to his son next. That son had been lost because he had been foolish enough to begin fooling around on her with strumpets and then Jane Seymour.

Anne had given him everything. She had waited for him to be divorced from Catherine, helped him reform his kingdom, gave him her maidenhead! Everything that had been her's to give she had delivered without hesitation. His way of repaying her? Breaking fidelity and causing her to lose the baby. After that he foolishly listened to the council of others instead of his heart. Words slandering her, painting her as nothing less than a witch and nothing more than a concubine. Like a bloody knave he had allowed himself to be talked into signing her death warrant.

As that last thought entered his mind he let out a cough; the lump in his throat restricting his ability to sob. Walking over to the window he placed his hands on either side before leaning his forehead against the cool glass. It stung to the point of burning from how freezing it was; even in May the weather was cool and windy. That day had been much like today was, only without a hint of wind. The sky had looked as it did now, as if Heaven were ready to weep.

Eyes slid closed. He couldn't bear looking at his reflection right now, because when he did he could picture himself as he looked when she had begged him for another chance. Those beautiful eyes looked into his while holding their daughter, her pleas had fallen without answer that day. Henry had been in rare form, he couldn't remember ever having been so cruel to Anne before. Why had he been so stubborn? God why?

With an anguished cry he pulled his fists back and pounded them against the wall once. He wanted to claw the walls and tear them down, to destroy everything within his reach. A rampage no one would be able to stop even if they held him back. Even if they physically stopped him, he felt as if he were slowly losing his sanity anyway. They couldn't stop the ravaging of his mind that his memories committed.

It wasn't as if Jane was a horrible wife or human being. On the contrary she was quite lovely and a very caring, pious person. A part of him did love her soundly. But that part was only a fragment of the heart that Anne still carried even in death. She had been his equal in all things. Intelligent, sharp witted, passionate, their love had been a bonfire, a raging storm of emotion. He would never find that again, and if he were honest he didn't want to. Passion had dimmed for him, it wasn't like it used to be.

Life wasn't like it used to be.

For how long he stood there with his body leaning into the window and wall, he didn't know. But when he next resurfaced from his sea of pain he heard the door to his chamber opening. He didn't turn around even when the familiar voice of Cromwell broke the silence. "Your Majesty—-" a pause. The other man wasn't a fool, he knew what today was, but hadn't expected to see Henry like this. True he couldn't see his King's face but he could read the tense posture. "—Her Majesty is wondering if you are going to join her for your morning meal,".

His wife. She probably knew why he hadn't visited her chamber last night. Yet for some reason he couldn't find it in himself to care much; not more than a moment of guilt. "Tell her—-" did he want to subject himself to that today? No. No he didn't want to. In fact he knew what he wanted to do. "Tell her I'm going to see Elizabeth and will be eating breakfast with her," Cromwell was stunned into silence for a moment before replying "Yes, Your Majesty.". The sound of the door closing signaled his departure.

Yes, he would go see his Elizabeth. This day would be their day from then on. Was it masochistic of him to go see the one person who would remind him what a horrible deed he had committed? Perhaps. But in the end he imagined it fit punishment. Eyes opened once more as he heard a little plip against the glass, finding a raindrop. For a moment he stood and watched as the sky opened up and showered the earth. Some believed that when it rained it was a sign God was pleased with his children. Other's believed it was Him cleansing the earth of all sin, washing it away. Henry believed that, at least for today, the rain was the tears of an angel.


End file.
